


Kiss Me

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hmmm. Blair isn't talking, so Jim has to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

> Just a lsweet little snippet that I wrote while doing the laundry and waiting for the cordless screwdriver to charge up. Not betaed. Warnings for some naughty language, the 'R' rating is more for language than anything else. Will grovel for feedback. 

## Kiss Me

by Pink Dragon

Author's disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.

* * *

Kiss Me 

I've slowly come to the realization that something is wrong. Something is wrong with Blair, something between us. We finally took that last step, became lovers, after dancing around each other for so long. I always knew it was inevitable. And it's wonderful, fantastic, hot, sexy. But now, something is wrong. Or maybe it was wrong from the beginning. For the last week or so, I've noticed that when we have sex, when we make love, Blair never asks me for anything. He never says 'kiss me' or 'fuck me' or even 'touch me'. And I don't think he ever has. He won't ask me for what he wants. At least not in bed. He sure doesn't have that problem any other time, which makes it all the more puzzling. And worrying. 

I know he enjoys the sex, he always comes, sometimes twice. And he's a willing, enthusiastic, inventive lover. But he only takes what I give him. He'll let me do anything I want to do, but he never asks for anything more, or anything different. Not that he's silent, God no, he talks constantly. The only way to shut him up in bed is to stick my cock in his mouth. Which, of course, he always lets me do. But he has never once said 'fuck my mouth, Jim', or 'let me suck you' or ever, ever asked me to do it to him. He'll DO it, he just won't SAY it. And he never, EVER asks for it. So something is definitely wrong. I've gotta talk to him about it, and this might be the hardest thing I've ever done. 

I've got to pick the right time. I can't do it while we're making love. We have to be somewhere away from that. I have to be calm, keep my head, state my case, present the evidence and let him examine it. And I hope to God he understands that I'm not criticizing. That I just want him to be happy, to get what he wants from me in bed, as well as everywhere else in our lives. That I want to give him everything he needs, everything he wants, that he can tell me anything, ask me for anything, and it won't scare me off. Maybe I'm being selfish, I probably am, but I want to be everything to him, the way he is everything to me. 

* * *

It's midday Saturday. We've tidied up the house, now Blair is fixing lunch while I sort laundry in the middle of the living room. I could do it upstairs, but then I couldn't watch Blair. And I love watching Blair. 

"We've got leftover baked chicken, I could make sandwiches," he says, standing in front of the open refrigerator. Blair makes the world's best baked chicken. He stuffs it with onions and garlic and big handfuls of fresh herbs he gets from his friend Alan's garden. It's to die for. Boston Market, eat your frigging heart out. 

"Mmmm, that sounds good. What else we got?" 

"Chips and salsa?" He says, his head still in the fridge. 

"Works for me, Chief," I tell him, smiling at his back. Well, mostly at his backside. "I'll take the laundry down, and be right back to help." 

"Okay, Jim. Don't use that washer on the far left, it has a really bad squeak in it. It's gonna die one of these days and I don't want it die on our dollar." 

"Okay, cheapskate." 

"Hey, man, a dollar's a dollar." He's grinning at me, waving the platter of baked chicken in the air. 

When I get back upstairs, having avoided the washer on the far left, Blair has chips in a bowl on the table, and salsa, too. Our favorite kind. He gets it from this tiny little taco stand on the really crappy side of town. They sell it to him in a huge soda cup. For a dollar. Hmmm. Maybe that dollar's important after all. I grin to myself. 

"What we gonna do this afternoon, Jim? You got anything planned?" He slicing chicken breast in small, thin slivers. I get a red onion out of the fridge, and the jar of roasted red bell peppers. Some red lettuce and Blair's homemade herb salad dressing. 

"Well, I kinda had something for us to do together, but let's talk about it after lunch, huh?" I don't want to start this now. We need to sit down, relax, and do this. After lunch. 

"Oooh, a surprise?" he says, wiggling his eyebrows at me. 

"Not that kind of surprise, Chief. Just something I have to tell you, something we need to talk about, and I want your full attention, okay?" I talk to him softly, give him a little smile, so he knows I'm not upset about something. 

"Okay, Jim. We can do that," he says. He's gone all solemn, and he's lost the smile, and my heart aches a little at that. He finishes putting together the chicken sandwiches, with the onion and the peppers, and lots of lettuce that he dresses with the salad dressing before heaping it on top of the chicken slices. He puts the top slice of bread on each one, presses it down firmly to stick everything together then slices each sandwich in half. I pour two tall glasses of iced tea and carry them to the table, along with the pitcher. Blair loves my iced tea. He sits the plates of sandwiches down on the table, sits down, smiles at me. "Dig in, Jim." 

And I do. God it's good. 

* * *

We finish eating lunch and clean up the kitchen, pouring the left-over salsa back in the soda cup. Put a clothes pin on the chip bag and cover up what's left of the chicken and get everything back in the fridge. Blair's quiet, and I try to get him to talk with me. Just chatting about work, our friends, whatever. But he doesn't really respond. Oh, man. "All done, Chief. Come sit on the couch with me?" He wipes his wet hands off on the dish towel, folds it neatly on the counter. 

"Sure, Jim. Whatever you say." He sounds upset. I sit down on the sofa and he sits at the other end. Way far away from me. 

"Blair..." I say softly. 

"What man? Let's just get this over with okay?" Really defensive. "What did I do, man? Scratch the truck? Leave the soap lying in the bottom of the tub? Breath too loud?" 

"Aaah, shit, Blair." I move slowly toward him, across the sofa. I try to put my arms around him, but he bats them away, then pulls away, his arms crossed over his chest. Tense and grimacing. "Hey, babe, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm not upset. I'm not mad." I brush his hair with my fingertips, touch his cheek. He doesn't pull away, now, and he relaxes, but just a little. 

"What's this about then, huh?" 

"Please, Blair, don't be upset. This isn't anything to be upset about. I just want to ask you something." 

"Well, what the hell is it, man? You're freaking me out here!" 

"Come here, babe." I hold my arms open and he comes, slowly, to sit close, next to me. I give him a good, hard squeeze. "First of all, I love you. You know that. I love you more than anything Blair, and that's why I have to do this." I kiss his hair. I've got to do this fast, now. Get it over with so we can get past this. He pulls away from me far enough to look at me. 

"Just spit it out Jim. Let's get this over with, huh?" 

"Okay. Okay. Um, I've noticed that when we're together, you know, when we're making love, that you never ask me for anything." I'm blushing furiously now, but I look straight into his eyes. This is really hard. 

"What do you mean, I don't ask for anything?" 

I stroke his hair, still looking him straight in the eye and whisper, "You never tell me what you want, Blair. When we're in bed. What you'd like. You let me do what I want, and you're wonderful to me, but I want you to be able to tell me what you'd like. Maybe something I'm not doing, anything, whatever you want. You never ask me for anything. I do it to you, ask for what I want, what I like, but you never do." 

"Shit, Jim, I do too." 

"No, Blair, no you don't. I don't think you ever have. Not when we're in bed together. You just... don't." 

"Well, what the hell difference does it make, man? You make me come. God, isn't that enough?" He's pissed. He pulls away from me. "Fuck!" 

Oh God. The most giving person I've ever known and he's afraid to ask for what he wants. 

"Blair, I love you," I say softly. 

"Yeah, but you don't think I'm a good lover." 

"Shit, Blair, that's not what I meant! That's not what I said! Jesus, you're the best lover I've ever had!" 

"Then what the fuck do you mean!?" 

"Aaaw, God! I knew I'd screw this up! I fucking new it! Fuck!" I get up off the sofa and start pacing. "I knew I shouldn't have tried to talk to you about this, damn it! I should have just kept my fucking mouth shut! Fuck!" And that's all it takes for him to calm the hell right down, and try to take care of me. 

"Jim, man, calm down, it's okay, man, we'll talk this out. C'mere." 

"See Blair!? That's exactly what I'm talking about! You take care of me! All the fucking time! But you won't let me take care of you! Fuck!" I scrub my hands over my face and whisper to him, "God damn it Blair, I want to take care of you, too." 

"Shit." He leans back on the sofa and just watches me. "Shit," he says again. 

"Yeah, shit," I say back to him. 

"I never thought about it, man." I go back and sit down next to him. Stroke his hair. Yeah, he calmed us right down. 

"Well, let's think about it now. I can't believe it's so hard for you to say what you want in bed, babe." 

"I guess I just never have." 

"You've never asked for what you want when you've made love with someone?" 

"Shit, I guess not. You know, when you're with a woman, it's always about getting her off, making sure she enjoys it. It's not like I have a hard time coming." He laughs a little wildly. "Probably more the opposite, man. I have a hard time NOT coming. I never needed to ask for anything; I always had more than enough." 

"Well, maybe it's more than enough for you, but it's not enough for me, Blair." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, hmpf...." I take a second to gather my thoughts, and he understands what I'm doing and waits patiently. "I mean that I know that anything I ever wanted or needed, you would do for me," I say, softly. "Anything I asked you to do, you would do." I pull him close, and he comes, easily, into my lap. "And I want you to feel the same way about me. I want you to know that you can get from me anything you ever want. Absolutely anything, babe. I want to give you that." He's straddling me now, sitting on my lap and he lowers his face till our foreheads are touching. And he closes his eyes. 

"I do know that, Jim. But it's hard to say it. To say what I need. I've just never done that." 

"I know, babe." I give him a hard squeeze. 

"You really think I'm a good lover?" 

"Jesus, Blair, you put my needle in the red zone faster than anyone I've ever been with. Hell yes, you're a good lover." 

He pulls away from me, gives me the most blinding smile I've ever seen, and says, "Yeah?" 

"Yeah. Just tell me what you want, please, Blair." 

"I'll try, man." He kisses my nose. 

"We'll practice, okay? Start small and work our way up to the tough stuff." He rubs his head against mine. "Can we do that Blair?" 

"Yeah, we can practice." 

"Can we start now?" I ask him. 

"Shit, man. You go right for the jugular, don't you?" 

"Blair." 

"Yeah, we can start now," he whispers. 

"What do you want, babe?" I whisper back, rubbing his back with long smooth strokes. He blushes, immediately, but when I smile at him, he smiles back. 

"Baby steps, right? I can start slow?" 

"Yeah, you can start slow. What do you want, babe?" He doesn't say anything, and his breathing is accelerating. "Hey, it's okay, Blair. Just say it. Think about whatever it is that you want most right now, right this second. What do you really, really want?" I whisper to him. And it takes him almost half a minute to answer me. He just closes his eyes, taking deep breaths, like he's meditating. And God, this is really hard for him. Jesus. And finally he says it, so soft it's a good thing I'm a Sentinel or I'd never have heard him. 

"kiss me?" Aaah God. 

"I can do that, Blair." And I take his face in both hands, rub my thumbs across those cheekbones, feeling the blush there, and I pull him down and kiss him. Slow and sweet. 

And when I pull away, he's smiling sweetly at me, and he whispers, again, "kiss me..." So I do. We kiss, soft and slow, and I pull back again to smile at him. 

"See, you can do it," I whisper. 

He smiles at me, "kiss me again..." he whispers back. So I kiss him again. And the Ellison-Sandburg bus is off and rolling. I think I may have created a monster, here. And I'm damn glad I did. 


End file.
